Dirthavaren
by drakontion
Summary: Lavellan has issues with the Exalted Plains.


**Dirthavaren**

She decided that the hated the Exalted Plains.

She hated the scent of death that hung over the ground like smoke from a brushfire on a still, sultry summer's day. She hated the cruel, arrogant, unthinking shem who still attacked, who still thought this a land worth fighting over, who still blindly followed the so-called will of their Creators damned Maker. She hated the fact that there was yet beauty in this land, all but hidden under centuries of war and burning and slaughter. Most of all she hated that her People still came here, were still drawn to this place, despite the weight and stench of the past.

They'd been here for weeks now. Backwards and forwards, over rocks and river and fens. What started at wonder - at being here, Dirthavaren, the place her people were promised - waned with each passing day. It was ruined, now, this land.

Today alone she'd spent the better part of the afternoon with Keeper Hawen, begging, no, _pleading_ for him to take his clan and leave this place, and he had steadfastly refused. He'd smiled at her, belittling; called her _da'len_ indulgently; set her proving tasks; and then when she'd accomplished them, had turned away. She did not understand, he'd said, did not realise the burden of this place, did not share the Keeper's need to keep, close and at hand, all that the Plains meant for the People. She'd stopped, eyes narrowing, and clenched her fist, the merest spark of lightning flitting between her fingers in her anger.

And he'd laughed at her, told her to go back to her training, to leave the Plains in the hands of the People. He told her that her clan was lacking, that its progressive ways would be its undoing, that its - _her_ - associations with shems and knife-ears would lead it astray. His eyes had flicked over Cassandra and Cole insultingly as he'd said this, hovered uncertainly over Solas. _Run along_, he'd said, _da'len_. Condescending. Arrogant. And then he had turned his back on her. She'd grit her teeth so hard she had given herself a headache and clenched her hands on her staff until her knuckles had whitened from the rage.

Cassandra had murmured "Inquisitor" warningly as she'd taken a step forward, but it was Solas' hand on her arm that stopped her. She had turned and looked at him, his stormy grey eyes still and tranquil on hers. He had held her gaze for just a moment, and she'd released the breath she hadn't even realised she'd been holding.

"Let's go," she'd said, turned around, and strode away from the clan, walking until the red sails of their aravels were not even a memory for her. 

oooooooooooo 

They camped that night by the water; she hoped that the gentle sounds of the river would help soothe the still burning anger inside her. Cassandra had built a fire and was cooking something meaty for their dinner (and she was still somewhat surprised that the Seeker had these eminently practical skills, as opposed to just hitting things with sharp implements until they died), while Cole watched and asked quiet questions.

She was perched on a rock overhanging the water, listening to them, letting the interplay of their accents gradually relax her. Bare feet dangling in cool water, arched and rubbing over smooth pebbles to ease the ache of being encased in boots that she was still not used to. Idly she traced fingertips over the rough grain of the rock as she watched the last of the sun's light drain from the sky.

Behind her, Cole had progressed to assisting Cassandra, bringing her herbs and salt from their packs when she asked. She smiled as he audibly grimaced and Cassandra softly berated him for licking the salt pile, and sighed, releasing more of the day's tension.

His scent came before him on the evening breeze, elfroot and rain and cinnamon, before she heard the quiet fall of his bare feet on the river pebbles behind her. His warm hands cupped her shoulders, long fingers rubbing gently into aching and tense muscles. She let her head rest forward and her shoulders droop.

"_Lethallan_." She winced at the tone of gentle reproof in his voice. "Your anger nearly overcame you, today."

She could bear almost anything, but not Solas being disappointed in her. "_Abelas_," she whispered, and her shoulders drooped further.

There was a pause as he held her, and she imagined him looking down on her bowed head, inwardly cringing with shame for the rebuke to come. Then his fingers tightened on her, pulling her up, and he chuckled, quietly and just the once. "It's done," he said, and she turned in surprise.

"Done?"

"Done." The corner of his lip quirked just the tiniest bit.

"Oh. I thought you were going to..."

An eyebrow raised. "Shout at you?"

Her lips parted to deny, but his eyes, nearly black in the descending gloom, caught hers, and she could not lie. She shrugged a little, instead.

He sighed, squeezed her shoulders, and then released them; and she made a tiny mewl of loss, quickly stifled as he clambered up onto the rock and sat beside her. He put an arm around her shoulder and she leant into him, comfortably, gratefully.

"Quite apart from the fact that it's in bad taste to shout at the Inquisitor," he said, his free hand gently smoothing a lock of hair back behind her ear, "I'm certainly not going to deride you for telling that old fool he was wrong. You may need to work on your delivery, however, and we definitely need to discuss how to pick your battles."

She snorted. "Pick my battles? I'm the Inquisitor. I don't pick battles, battles happen to me."

"True enough." She could hear the smile in his voice.

She turned her cheek into his chest, until she could hear his heart beating, slow and steady. "I was afraid you'd be more upset with me." The words were slightly muffled, being spoken into his robe.

His arm tightened around her. "No, _da'len_. I'm not 'more' upset. It's your path to walk, your choice to make. That you should choose to anger the Keeper of the only clan we have yet come across, not to mention steal away one of his clan... well. Possibly a little more tact, next time, hmm?"

She sighed. "Solas."

"Yes?"

"Please, for the love of Mythal, do _not_ call me _da'len_ any more."

Another chuckle. "And how would you have me call you?"

"I have a name, you know."

Softly. "I know."

Silence, for what felt like an eternity, and she watched the stars brighten to silhouette the giant wolf statue on the other side of the river. Her toes grew chilly in the water and she drew her legs up, curling them beneath her, and leant more into Solas' side. An arm crept around him and he rubbed it, soothing strokes that seemed to indulge his need to touch her as much as her need to be touched.

Behind them, Cassandra banged her spoon on the pot, and she started, just a little.

"I'm just so frustrated," she said. Solas made a little noise of query.

"This place. It is..a promise to him, and others like him. _Arla_. Despite all that's happened here, to the land, to the People. To me, it's..." she struggled to find the words. His gentle fingers continued their rubbing, somehow encouraging her.

"It's not home, here. It's.." she gestured outwards, then clenched her fist. "_Lin'an tel'nehn_. It's war, and death, and stupidity. It's how we were betrayed, and how we lost and continue to lose, and how we are dying."

She sighed. "I just want the People to move onwards. I want to help. I want to _change_. I don't understand why that's such a difficult thing to do."

They sat, for a while, in silence, before he spoke.

" You never cease to amaze me, _emma lath_. That you could want all that... it is a marvel." She felt the beginning of a blush, but he continued.

"Change never comes easy, least of all to those who cling to the past. You know that. They are fighting to hold on to those things that make them who they are. You are fighting to make them let go. It is inevitable that there will be blood."

"Should I stop then, Solas? If it will come to that?" Her voice was very quiet.

He shook her slightly, and his voice, when he replied, was quietly vehement. "Never. Never stop. What you do, it will hurt, but it is the birthing pangs the People need. If you stop, then they will fade away. They need you, even if they don't want to. Even if they hate you for it."

"I'd rather not be hated," she said wryly.

"We don't always get a choice in these things." He sounded so sad, she held onto him tighter.

"_Da'vhenan_, you are more a Keeper than you know, more than Hawen will ever be, for all his years on you. Your clan should be truly proud of you."

She looked up at him, surprised. He'd never mentioned her clan with less than disdain before. "Thank you, Solas."

He looked down at her and smiled, just a little, obsidian eyes reflecting starlight and the void of the wolf in the distance. He leaned down and kissed her, gently, then rested his forehead against hers, cupping her face in his hands. She could feel his breath, warm and soft on her lips, and she breathed it in, so that he was both within and beside her.

Cassandra banged her pot again and brusquely said, "Food is ready!"

She smiled, shifted, and suddenly they were standing, balanced barefoot on the rock with the river behind them. He hopped down elegantly and looked up at her. "Vhen'an'eth," he said, quietly, and held out his hand. Her answering smile was like a summer moonrise, slow and sweet, full of warmth and promise and delight.

Taking his hand, she stepped down lightly, gracefully, and together they went to the fire to join their friends.

She still hated the Plains. She decided, however, that she did quite like this spot, right here. 

* * *

><p>Notes on the Elvish used:<p>

da'len = child, little one

lethallan = kinswoman, close friend

abelas = sorrow, I'm sorry

arla = home

lin = blood, an = land, nehn = joy, tel negates. So - land of blood and not-joy.

emma lath = my love

Vhen'an'eth = her name - heart safe place, heart's ease.

da'vhenan - little heart


End file.
